Monday, May 21, 2012

A Needed Reminder of Why I Write

Would I continue to write if I knew I was never going to be published and never going to make any money from it?

This question has lurked in the undercurrents of my darker thoughts this last month. And like a good ostrich, I buried myself in other activities and never gave myself the breathing room to answer it.

Then, in the space of two days, three different friends asked me this same question. None of these friends know each other. None of these friends were prompted by me. Suddenly, this question was refusing to be ignored. The Universe was not going to let me gloss over this internal debate and carry on.

My glib response was: Of course. I'm a creature of habit, and I've been habitually writing for the past 12 years. To change that was going to take a little more than shaken faith.

A little deeper was the affirmation: I can't stop now; I've worked too hard to give up at this point. Basically, the past shall dictate the future.

Not a resounding cry in favor of writing.

Interestingly, though I had already responded, Yes, I love writing too much to stop, in various iterations to all three friends, the question refused to lie dormant. It bubbled up from my subconscious over and over again. The Universe kept throwing the question at me in a dozen different ways.

When I diagnosed physical problems that had cropped up over the month using Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life, there was the unanswered question: Does writing make me healthy?

Yes. The answer is yes a thousand time. I'm happier, healthier, and more at peace when I write. I feel a compulsion to explore the worlds I create. I feel more joyful for having writing in my life. I am grateful that I can write, that I have an outlet for creativity that I discovered in my teens that has sustained me, supported me, driven me, and rewarded me and will continue to do so for the rest of my life.

Will I continue to write regardless of monetary reward or the accolades of being published? Gladly.